


Adventures in Problem Solving

by blueeyesandpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Castiel (Supernatural) Loves Coffee, Christmas, Dean does his taking care of other people thing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Gift Fic, Human Castiel, Idiots in Love, M/M, PBExchangeWinter, Project Keep Castiel In America, Russian Castiel, Secret Santa, Student Castiel, Student Dean Winchester, Winter Wonderland, profoundnet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie
Summary: Dean and Cas have been living together since freshman year and despite their many differences, that's how Dean wants to keep it. Then senior year rolls around and Castiel reminds Dean that his student visa expires soon after he graduates. Dean has a mad plan, but can they keep up the charade long enough for Cas to stay in America where he belongs, or will Dean's growing feelings get in the way?





	Adventures in Problem Solving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LegendsofSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendsofSnark/gifts).



Dean meets Castiel Krushnic when they land in the same dorm room freshman year. He quickly learns they have far more differences than similarities (starting with nationality and going right down to preference in music) and braces himself for a year of misery. A month into hell, however, they unexpectedly find common ground in the form of cheap beer, cheap food, and bad TV marathons.

Their friendship grows roots from there, without rational explanation. They kick each other’s ass at video games, argue over who forgot to start the dishwasher, and egg each other on at parties until one or both makes fools of themselves. Cas reminds Dean to “sometimes eat a vegetable before you get scurvy,” and Dean reminds Cas to “get some fucking sleep, you obsessive Russian robot.”

Cas can’t have a job on a student visa, but his family sends him a stipend each month. They split the bills in whatever way makes sense at the moment and don’t think a whole lot about who pays for what, otherwise. Money seems irrelevant, somehow, in the face of supporting each other through family emergencies, overwhelming classes, food poisoning and hangovers, and the occasional broken heart.

No one is surprised when they get a place together off-campus in their junior year and carry on as before.

Dean can no longer imagine his life without that ugly trench coat hanging by the door, he realizes as they bicker and laugh through the move. He’s used to the crowded living room that already looks and smells like it time-hopped from a 60’s crash pad, and would rather saw off his leg than lose the sly smile Cas gets when he lets his dry sarcasm run rampant. There’s a sense of comfort in these things, of  _home_ and  _peace_ and other feelings Dean can’t—or won’t—define, that he never wants to let go.

-

When they get back from their first classes in senior fall term, Cas is unusually volatile. Dean puts up with it for a few hours because everyone has a shitty day occasionally, but then Dean spills milk, of all the stereotypical things to get upset over, and Cas loses his fucking shit.

“Да пошел ты нахуй, Dean,” he growls as he yanks the mop out of the closet.

“Fuck off yourself, jackass,” Dean replies. Instead of snapping back as Dean expects, Cas abandons the mess and stomps outside, leaving Dean feeling off balance and grumpy. They argue frequently, but it’s usually a toe-to-toe multilingual swearing match that ends in clarity and a beer, not… whatever this is.

He eventually finds Cas hunched over the firepit in their shitty patch of a backyard, pushing dirt and ash around with one boot-clad foot. To an outsider he might have seemed vaguely pensive, but Dean can tell he’s a mess of raw nerves and frustration.

“What the hell’s going on? You’ve been a disaster all day.”

“It’s senior year,” Cas says after a long pause, as if that should explain everything.

“Yeah, start of term ain’t exactly my favorite time either, but you don’t usually take it this badly, buddy.”

“It isn’t school,” Cas says. His accent is heavier than usual, the words bound up with frustration and anger. “I met Crowley on the way out of Professor Shurley’s office this morning and he chose to remind me that my life ends in August. I took it poorly.”

“Your life- what?” Dean frowns.

“I graduate in June,” Cas says carefully. “And then I have to leave.”

Dean inhales sharply, rocking back on his heels as he considers this information. He’s refused to think about what happens after they get their degrees; the reminder isn’t welcome. “But—you wouldn’t even go home for your brother’s funeral,” he comments. What an uproar that decision had caused, even from six thousand miles away. Dean can only imagine Cas’s childhood, or what it would be like to be forced to return to that life after escaping.

“Exactly,” Cas stares into the fire pit for so long Dean wonders if the conversation is over before it began. Cas does that sometimes, and it never stops being infuriating. When the other man finally speaks again, he sounds small and lost. “I applied for several graduate programs, but my father says he will not pay for them, so I- I’m fucked.”

Dean digs his flask out of his pocket and offers it in silent commiseration. What else can he do?

-

They end up getting hammered. It isn’t an intentional thing, of course, but somehow the flask leads to beer while waiting for pizza, and when that runs out they start doing shots. Eventually they sprawl out on the couch, drinking straight from their last bottle of Jack and laughing at the overbearing melodrama that is Dr Sexy.

The episode ends and Cas mutes the TV before commercials can blare at them. They remain in companionable silence until Dean looks up at Cas (how’d his head end up in the guy’s lap, anyway?) and slurs, “y’know, there’s way to fix this...problem...thing...issue. You know what I mean.”

Blue eyes peer at him in blurry confusion. “What do you talk about?”

Dean grins up at his friend, lifting one hand to clumsily poke at his nose with one finger. “It’s ‘what are you talking about,'  _lapochka_.”. Cas’s English is near-perfect now, but he does have the occasional vocabulary mix-up that Dean delights in and Cas pretends to be offended by. 

“Fuck off, Dean.” Unlike earlier, there’s amusement winding through the words.

Dean laughs, then tries his hardest to sober up for his next words. “Let’s get married.”

Cas pulls away so fast Dean nearly falls off the couch. “That isn’t funny at all.”

“It ain’t a joke.” Dean sits up, trying to pull his scattered, drunken thoughts back to coherency as he grabs at Cas’s hand. “You could get your green card if we did. We could pretend for a couple years for that, right? Keep on like we have, just with some extra paperwork.” Somewhere in his brain is the thought that this solution is probably not quite as easy as he thinks it is, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

The other man is frozen with his mouth half open, one hand wrapped loosely around the bottle like he’s forgotten how to use it. “‘M serious, Cas,” Dean says with a dopey smile. “Marry me, stay in America, eat too many burgers. We can divorce after you’re a citizen. No harm done, yeah?” Something about that last bit  _hurt_ , but Dean’s not remotely prepared to analyze why.

“I...yes,” Cas says something in Russian too garbled for Dean to follow, then grumbles and puts the bottle aside. “We should talk about this tomorrow.” His hand squeezes Dean’s, however, and his shoulders visibly relax. A few minutes later, gentle fingers in Dean’s hair carry him into dreamless slumber.

-

They don’t talk about it the next day, or the day after that. It’s the following Tuesday, in fact, by the time Dean gets home to find Cas writing at the kitchen table, coffee cold and long forgotten beside his laptop.

“I have something for you,” Dean announces as he shrugs off his jacket. He drops a large yellow envelope on Cas’s keyboard and stuffs his hands in his pockets while he waits for his friend to pick it up.

“What’s this?” Cas asks.

“Just- look at it,” Dean stammers. He wets his lips and shifts his weight from side to side.

Cas opens the envelope and scans the top page with one brow slightly lifted. “Wait- this is-” he sets the pile down and stares at Dean with narrowed eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side. “What is this?” He repeats, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

Dean slides into the chair next to his and tugs the papers over to lay them out neatly. “This is the life insurance policy I have through my credit union,” he says, pointing to the first set of documents, “and this is my checking account. You just need to sign here and you’ll be added to both. The blue one will put you on my car insurance policy. That one,” and his fingers touch the paper reverently, “that’s Baby’s title. We’ll have to go to the DMV eventually, but just signing it gives you half ownership.” Cas inhales sharply, and Dean’s cheeks warm up.

It takes every ounce of courage Dean has to reveal the last documents in the pile. “This one’s the I-130 to apply for your green card, and the other’s the I-485 to change your residency status to permanent. And this one...um, this one’s a marriage license.”  His eyes slide sideways to examine Cas in profile, waiting for a response.

“You didn’t forget,” Cas breathes. He’s preternaturally still, hands palms-down on the table like it's his only line to reality, but Dean can see his eyes dart from page to page with guarded interest.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Dean retorts, though he knows he really, really was. “I did my homework, Cas. We do this and that’s it. You can stay.”

“You really- Dean, this could get you in real troubles.”

Dean frowns, resting one cheek on his fist as he turns to face Cas head on. “So we don’t tell anyone,” he says easily. “Even Charlie thinks we’re ‘just friends’ the way Bert and Ernie are ‘just roommates,’ so we can run with their mistake and call it a day.”

Cas snorts a laugh, but his mirth fades quickly. Dean can practically see the gears turning in his head as he considers the possibility. “We would have to lie to everyone we know. We would need to share affections,” he observes, eyes resting pointedly on Dean’s mouth, “in public at least. You would not be able to date, or-” he trails off, somehow looking heartbroken and exasperated at the same time. “I thank you for the gesture, but I can’t ask-”

“You aren’t asking, I’m offering,” Dean interrupts. He ignores everything else. He hasn’t been on a real honest-to-God date in over a year, and somehow he hasn’t missed it. It’s way more fun to hang out on the couch with Cas than it is to make awkward conversation with strangers at a bar. “Just think about it, okay?”

-

Cas says yes, though it takes him two weeks to do so.

He first declares they need rings, then insists on buying them, a victory Dean allows only after realizing exactly how many options there are and how little he knows about jewelry. Cas chooses wide bands of white gold with a line of beaded texture wrapping the center. Dean doesn’t have to feign his delight when they pick them up from the jeweler.

He slips his on (it fits perfectly and he has a dozen questions about how Cas knew what size to get) then holds his hand out over the counter, fingers splayed to show it off and admire it at the same time.  

“Do you like it, dear?” Cas asks, and while the sales clerk coos at how adorable they are, Dean recognizes premium Castiel mockery when he hears it.

“It’ll do,” he deadpans, and Cas punches him in the shoulder with a snort.

After a moment of hesitation that has his heart in his throat and his stomach doing queasy flips, Dean leans in to press a kiss against Cas’s cheek. We would need to share affections, Cas had said, and this seemed as good a time as any to make good on that requirement.

To his surprise the kiss is as easy and real as every other part of their friendship, and that’s not as strange as he expects it to be. Scruff snags his lips as he pulls away and heat and confusion shoot straight to his toes. “Thank you, sweetheart, it’s beautiful,” he says. If it comes out a little breathy, well. Blame that on having to play it up for the clerk.

Cas clears his throat and turns to pay for the jewelry. When he’s done they put the rings away and Dean is actually relieved to see them go. It had felt strange to put the ring on himself...and that makes no sense at all. There is nothing attached to the accessory beyond a practical need to keep Cas in America.

Right?

Right.

-

They meet Meg and Charlie at the Roadhouse that night to share their news. Meg immediately drawls “tell me something I don’t know, Winchester,” and Dean flips her the bird. Charlie squeals and insists on a group hug, then demands details about their romance, the proposal, and the wedding. Dean and Cas share a single horrified look before ad libbing answers as best they can. They talk for hours, it seems, and Dean is shocked at how easy it is to pretend the whole thing isn’t a giant sham.

“I need a photo for Instagram,” Meg announces as the evening begins to wind down. “Get nice and cozy, boys.”

“I’d rather not-” Dean starts. Then he pauses, eyes drifting to where Cas is standing with one hip against the bar. He can’t exactly keep this a secret if he wants Cas to have an ice cube’s chance in hell of staying. He’s gone this far, he might as well take the leap.

“Yes, Meg,” he concedes with a laugh that doesn’t sound nearly as nervous as he feels. The two women hoot as he turns to face his friend head-on, but he barely hears them over the roaring in his ears.

Dean’s expecting a hug or a peck on the cheek, so when Cas grabs him by the waist and shoulder and reels him in for the full mouth-to-mouth experience, his soul practically leaves his body. He’s not prepared for his thoughts to start spinning in lazy circles as soon as their lips meet, or for every muscle in his body to turn to jelly, or for heat to flare up in distracting waves everywhere they touch.

He thinks with blinding clarity that if this is Cas playing games, he’ll be utterly ruined if the guy ever decides to get serious. Dean pushes the idea away, ashamed of the overwhelming need it provokes within him, and tries to focus on keeping himself grounded in reality.

That’s a spectacular failure; he’s so lost in the sensation of their lips moving against each other that when Cas pulls away to whisper “I’m sorry” in a truly contrite tone, he’s baffled and hurt by the betrayal. Then he remembers that it’s all just a show. Disappointment creeps in to banish the warmth of their embrace and he stumbles backward, desperate for distance.

Dean slams two more shots in an effort to get his mind back on track, but his thoughts get even more confusing. Thankfully he manages to get himself home and in bed without having to touch Cas again or answer any more questions.

He takes the wins he can get.

-

Bobby is comfortably congratulatory when they visit that weekend, and Dean wonders exactly how many people in his life have assumed he’s dating Cas in secret. To his disgruntled surprise, Bobby agrees to officiate, but only if they have a real wedding. “Don’t make me knock yer heads together,” he tells them when they protest. “It don’t have to be a big to do, but you should at least invite your brother.”

Dean swallows his objections and agrees to Bobby’s terms.

Cas and Dean decide to get married during winter break. It’s an easy decision; the sooner it happens, the longer Cas has to prove he’s a permanent fixture in Dean’s life. The short notice also provides natural limitations to the party Charlie has gleefully taken over planning, and gives Cas a convenient excuse not to invite his family. Dean doubts any would have attended anyway, given Cas’s supposed choice in partners.

October and November pass in a blur of classes, homework, and planning. The closer the actual wedding date gets, however, the more certain Dean is that he’s made a terrible mistake.

Getting married is not the issue. Cas needs to stay in America where he’s safe and happy, and a wedding opens that door like nothing else could. He will never regret enabling that for a single second.

No. The real problem is in Dean’s head.

It shows up in tingling skin, prickling heat, and dreams that leave Dean a sweaty, disheveled mess the next morning.

It drifts to the surface when Cas puts his hand on the small of Dean’s back like it freaking belongs there in public, but avoids touching him at all when they’re alone.

It’s there when Cas dresses like Superman for Charlie’s Halloween party and pretends to rescue rockstar Dean from a Loki-fied Gabriel. It’s all Dean can do to keep his hands to himself when they get home that night, but Cas just strips down and goes to bed like nothing happened.

It roars with new strength when Cas spends half of Thanksgiving snuggled against him and feeding him pie...then retreats to his study after everyone leaves and refuses to come out for the rest of the night.

Dean can’t fault Cas for sticking to the terms of their agreement—a real relationship was never a part of that discussion, after all—but the more they touch, the more Dean wants, and the more their separate evenings bother him. Worst of all, there’s years of pretending ahead of them, and Dean’s not sure he’ll survive the experience.

-

Meg and Charlie arrange separate bachelor parties two days before the wedding. As Dean gets ready that evening, he realizes Cas didn’t even have to try to be serious about courting him; Dean’s already ruined for anyone else and the asshole has no frigging idea. “I’m so fucked,” he mutters, but the thought doesn’t stop him from climbing into the back of Charlie’s VW Bug an hour later.

It isn’t difficult to play the part of blissed-out husband-to-be in the ensuing shenanigans. His mind is so wrapped up in thoughts of Castiel that he barely notices when Charlie drags him into yet another bar. He comes back to Earth with a thump, however, when Cas himself lands in his lap with a tipsy laugh and an incoherent string of English and Russian commentary.

Cas’s breath is hot against his skin and their bodies feel right pressed so close together; it takes very little for Dean to allow his mouth and hands to wander. When his lips find Cas’s and their tongues finally meet, it’s a frigging revelation of biblical proportions. He can’t get enough, and judging by Cas’s hands sliding up his shirt, neither can he.

They end up wound around each other in every possible way, oblivious to the growing amusement from their friends or any further plans there may have been for the night. “It’s my fucking bachelor party, I’ll kiss my fiance if I want to,” Cas growls at one point, and Dean hears Meg choke on her drink.

It isn’t until they’re in Dean’s room fumbling with each other’s clothes between frantic kisses that he realizes how very intoxicated they are and that this isn’t what Cas signed up for. Dean tries to be responsible, he really does. But Cas’s arms tighten around his shoulders when he tries to pull away, and his lips are soft and insistent. Then the bastard rolls his hips against Dean’s with a near-pornographic sound of want, and everything Dean’s been feeling for the last three months peaks in a surge of pure need that erases any hope of rational thought.

-

When Dean wakes the next morning his mouth tastes like a dead animal and his head is quick to inform him he’s probably still drunk. He reaches for his phone and blinks sleep out of his eyes enough to see it isn’t even seven. “Fuck,” he grumbles, tossing the gadget to the side.  Memories of the night before slam back into focus as he rolls over and his entire body flushes hot at the thought. He reaches for Cas and the heat is quickly pushed away by dread when he finds only cold, empty sheets.

It’s way too early for Cas to be awake. Even on a good day it’s a challenge to drag the grumpy Russian out of bed before ten, and they were out far later than usual the night before. “Fuck,” Dean repeats, this time with such force that his hungover brain protests the noise.

It takes two minutes to determine Cas didn’t pass out in the bathroom, move to his own bedroom, or set up camp on the couch. By that point Dean’s dread has risen to full panic. He mentally catalogs every event of the night before as he goes back to his room, and each new addition feels like a nail in the coffin of their friendship. He finds his phone in the twisted blankets on his bed and jams his thumb against the call button.

 _Wildest Dreams_  immediately begins to play from beneath the bed and Dean chucks his phone across the room in frustration. “Damn it, Cas,” he growls.

His skull feels like it’s made of Jello, but he dresses anyway, grumbling irritably as he jams his feet into his boots. Cas took his coat, he notes, but left his scarf and gloves on the shelf by the door. Dean almost leaves them behind—let the son of a bitch freeze, it was his own stupid decision to waltz out in a snowstorm—but snags them at the last minute as he’s heading out the door.

Baby’s still in the drive and the air outside gives Naomi Krushnic’s frigid heart a run for its money, so Dean figures there’s a limited number of places his friend could go at this time in the morning. The yard is empty and Bobby’s house is dark, so he heads to the corner coffee shop. Cas isn’t in evidence among the few early morning patrons, so Dean braces himself for the long walk to the park.

It’s a fifteen minute trip and he’s nearly there before he realizes he could have driven, or at least had hot coffee the whole time if he’d put two brain cells together in the cafe. Thank  _fuck_ when he gets to the park he can see a figure in brown on a bench at the opposite end of the field. Dean cuts straight across without care for the snow and ice that gets in his boots.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says as soon as Dean is within speaking distance. “I didn’t—” He breaks off, muttering to himself in his native tongue and refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean doesn’t let him fumble for too long before he drops onto the bench and proffers the clothes he’d brought with him. Cas cuts off mid-word.

“Don’t know if you noticed, but it’s freaking cold,” Dean says into the silence. “Put’em on before you catch pneumonia or something.” Castiel’s fingers are purple-tinged when he pulls them out of his pockets and his hands shake a little as he pulls the gloves on. Dean takes the initiative to wrap the scarf around his neck. “What the hell possessed you to take off like that?”

“I was afraid,” Cas says. His shoulders roll forward and he stares at his gloved hands as if they might hold the secret to the universe. “We went too far last night.”

“Okay I can get being angry or something, but afraid?” Dean frowns, his sluggish brain refusing to make sense of the situation. “You don’t seriously think I would-”

“You are doing so many good things for me,” Cas bursts out, “things that could get you in trouble, things that show you have such trust in me. And I repay you, how? By taking advantage of you when you are drunk. It’s disgusting.  _I_  am disgusting.”

Dean’s mind does a lazy handspring or two while he processes those words, but when he finally understands what Cas is saying, his mouth drops open of its own volition. “You think you took advantage of me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but Cas nods anyway. “Last night?” Cas nods again, gloved fingers curling into his coat.

Something warm and overwhelming blossoms in Dean’s chest, pressing outward until his entire body is tingling. His hands twitch, wanting something to hold on to as he jumps into the unknown. “The only bad part about last night was waking up alone this morning.” He tries for casual and misses by an entire continent; his voice cracks mid sentence and his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Cas twists to look at him and there’s something in his face that sends wild hope spiraling like firecrackers through Dean’s body. “I…I feel....”

Dean leans forward a little and those blue eyes widen. Cas’s tongue slips out of his mouth to run over his lips and Dean can’t help but wet his own in response. “Yeah, Cas. Yeah. Me, too.”

There’s snow falling around them in progressively violent flurries and Dean’s ass is numb from cold and his head still aches like a fucking bitch, but none of that matters when Cas crashes against his chest. Their lips meet in a kiss that is nothing like any they’ve shared so far. It shifts from aggressive to gentle and back again without warning and Dean’s lost, floundering, helpless and hopeless and utterly in love. They part only to gasp for breath or murmur endearments, then press back to taste and touch all over again.

Eventually Cas grumbles and breaks away. “We can’t get married if we freeze to death.”

The pragmatic statement is so distinctly Cas that Dean throws back his head and guffaws as he scrambles to his feet. “Can we go home and pretend we never got out of bed?” He asks hopefully.

“Coffee first,” Cas says. “Please.”

That seems like a perfectly reasonable compromise to Dean.

-

They can’t stay in bed all day, of course. Charlie and Meg descend on them around dinner time with a veritable laundry list of stuff they have to do, and for the first time Dean doesn’t fear the conversation. He shares shy glances with Cas as they go over who will stand where, who will say what, when this or that event will occur. None of it is new, but now there’s a certain kind of magic in the air as they hash out the details.

Charlie and Cas run to the store (“You aren’t invited, Dean. Sometimes a best lady and a groom have to have a private conversation”) leaving Dean alone with Meg. They talk about flowers and ribbons for a while, but the dark-haired woman seems distracted. Eventually she reaches across the table to take one of his hands in both of hers.

“Something’s different,” she observes. “You two were ridiculous before, but you’ve hit all new levels of sappy today.”

Dean thinks about blowing her off, but he’s so damn happy he can’t quite hold it in now he’s given an opportunity to share. “We talked about a few things,” he says finally. “We were good before, but now we’re better.”

“Well that’s vague.” She purses her lips, then she nails him to the wall with a single look. “Take care of that unicorn, Dean. I mean it. You hurt him and trust me, no one will find your body.”

“I think we sorted that out three years ago,” he says flippantly, and Meg’s fingernails dig sharp points of disapproval into his skin. “Okay, okay. I’ll treat him good, arright? I swear.” Meg doesn’t know the half of it and never will; he supposes he can grant her a moment of protective concern.

Cas walks through the door just then, so the other woman bites back whatever she’d been about to say. “Don’t forget,” she responds instead, her tone ominous.

“Forget what?” Charlie asks a little too brightly as she drops her bag on the table. Cas gives the red head an uncomfortable look and Dean wonders if the women orchestrated the entire evening in order to have the same conversation at the same time. It seems like something they would do.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Before he knows it, he and Cas are drinking their morning coffee in groggy silence. It’s like any other Sunday they’ve ever shared, only they’re getting married in a few hours and Dean’s heart skips a beat every time he thinks about it.

Cas catches him against the kitchen counter when they go to clean up. “It’s really happening,” he murmurs, giving Dean a positively feral grin. “I love you.” He pushes himself up to kiss Dean, and it’s far too easy to get distracted by the taste of coffee on Cas’s lips and the feel of their bodies pressing together in mutual need.

 _State of Grace_  blares from Cas’s pocket and they break apart, wide-eyed and panting. “You changed your ringtone,” Dean comments. It’s still Taylor-fucking-Swift, but he thinks he can forgive it just this once given the song choice.

“It seemed appropriate, cолнышко,” Cas observes as he answers the call, and Dean flushes in response to the unexpected endearment.

“Yes, we’re on our way,” his companion says. “No, we’re not- Christ, no! Mind your own damn business.” His cheeks are burning red, and Dean can only imagine what prompted that reaction. “Good-bye, Meg.” Cas puts his phone away with a muttered, “that woman is an unholy terror,” that has Dean cackling as he heads for the shower.

In reality it’s almost forty minutes before they leave, thanks to a dozen last minute things they need to take care of. When they finally walk outside, Dean realizes the sky cleared overnight and left them with a crisp, cool wonderland. There’s drifts of snow as far as the eye can see and icicles line every gutter, glittering in the light of the winter sun. It’s everything Dean could have wished for a December wedding, and then some, and he can’t help the happy noise that bubbles up.

“How can snow be so pretty here, yet so ugly where I grew up?” Cas wonders aloud. Dean just laughs and tugs him toward Bobby’s house.

It’s a small wedding, just as informal and odd as their friendship has ever been. Their one concession to formality is agreeing to wear suits, which they don in separate rooms as an homage to tradition. Then they clasp hands and head for the patio where the actual ceremony will occur.

Dean doesn’t remember what Bobby says, is barely aware of the small group of friends and family surrounding them because he can’t stop staring at Cas. Their fingers are tangled in a death grip between them, Cas’s eyes are as clear blue as the sky behind him, and Dean’s never been happier.

Cas speaks first, breaking composure only once to swear in Russian when he can’t remember what he’s supposed to say next because he lost the paper he’d written his vows on. Then Meg hands him the ring and Bobby’s asking him if he swears to keep his vows till death do you part, and Cas is whispering “I do” like it means the world to him.   

The ring slips on Dean’s finger, and he exhales in relief, staring down at the ring with a dazed expression. It feels _right_ , now that Cas was the one to put it there, and he knows he’ll never take it off again.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says inelegantly when it’s his turn to speak. He wipes his tear-tracked face with the palm of his free hand and looks to the sky like it will provide inspiration. “You’re a hard act to follow.” He gets through his own vows and somehow says “I do” before his throat locks up completely. He fumbles the ring away from Charlie and slips it on Cas’s finger despite his own shaking hands and then that’s it, they’re done and he can hardly believe he isn’t dreaming.

They don’t wait for permission from Bobby to kiss, but no one seems to mind. They’re pressed so close together Dean can feel Cas’s heart hammering in his chest and he never wants to let go. “ _Mine_ ,” his husband whispers between kisses, and Dean is shocked at his visceral reaction to the declaration.

There’s a reception to attend so they’re forced to separate eventually. After they’ve eaten lunch, cut the cake, and had their first dance, Bobby appears next to Cas and Dean. He has their marriage certificate in one hand and a pen in the other. “I’m glad to see you two got your shit together,” he comments as he hands both to Dean. “I wasn’t looking forward to watching that trainwreck.”

“What the hell, Bobby,” Dean complains as he leans over to find the right signature line.

“I may be old, but I ain’t senile,” Bobby says. “You two were up to something before, and I have a few guesses as to what. But,” and he glances between them thoughtfully, “not anymore.”

“We are always ‘up to something,’” Castiel says, making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “It is, as Dean would say, part of our charm.” Dean snorts as he passes the pen to his husband. Cas gives Dean a long look, the sort that leaves him weak-kneed and dizzy, before scrawling his name with a flourish. “I love him. That is all that matters, is it not?”

Bobby takes off with the paperwork shortly after and Dean leans in to press his lips against Cas’s. “I love you, too,” he murmurs.

-

A little less than five years later, Dean greets his husband by slapping a thick envelope against his chest when he walks in the door. Cas takes it with a questioning sound, then lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees the government seal by the return address.

Dean leans over his shoulder to read the letter from USCIS and the accompanying certificate of citizenship. “I suppose this means we can get a divorce now,” Dean says in a teasing tone, biting at Cas’s ear.

Cas spends the night showing Dean how much he appreciates their marriage  _exactly_ as it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful rocksaltandhoney and nena-solani on Tumblr.
> 
> \--
> 
> I do not speak Russian, I haven't spoken a second language fluently in over twenty years, and I am a US citizen by birth...which means I had to do a whole lot of research about language and immigration to get certain aspects of this fic 'right.' Any mistakes are due to my lack of personal experience and a limited time frame for research rather than any intent to offend. 
> 
> \--
> 
> I adore comments. They keep my writing mind going!


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